


The Fundamentals of Teamwork

by SmartyCat



Category: Kekkaishi
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-27
Updated: 2008-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartyCat/pseuds/SmartyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. Gingerbread is a training tool? Yoshimori thinks so! Gen feels sorry for himself, Tokine is a genius, and Toshimori is a bonus. There is no plot, only baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fundamentals of Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> I am not familiar with anime canon at this time (episodes acquired; time for viewing not so easily found) so if anything like this happens in the anime as filler... um, oops? This is also my first time writing for Kekkaishi and I'm sure it shows.
> 
> Anyone so inclined is also free to crit this thing to pieces. I have a reasonably tough skin.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** **:** Kekkaishi is the creation of Yellow Tanabe, manga serialized in Shogakukan's Shonen Sunday and distributed in America exclusively under license by Viz. This should come as no surprise, but I do not own it, folks.

_For prpl pen_

 **The Fundamentals of Teamwork**

by  
 **Smarty Cat**

The ability to hurry without appearing to be in any rush required a certain amount of skill. It called for a calculated slouch of the shoulders accompanied by a loose, meandering hitch in the stride. It was a combination of intent and deception honed to a fine behavioral art form. Most importantly, attention should never be drawn to the self.

Unfortunately one Shishio Gen appeared not to have mastered that skill set so well given the way that the other students pressed themselves against the wall with wide eyes at his coming. It had become almost a reflex to everyone involved. Due to the consistency of his brooding presence, Gen had grown familiar and thus less frightening, but he was no less unfriendly than he had been the first day he walked on campus.

Gen marched down the path that almost ceremoniously cleared for him on his way to the rooftop. Only one other student would ever dare to follow him up there. Well, to be fair, there was a second who would follow him up without hesitation, but she was highly unlikely to do so.

He flung himself down on the roof of the school. Masculine pride demanded that he recline in a loose sprawl, but he tucked his chin into his uniform collar in concession to the brisk bite of the air. Gen waited, eyes closed, willing any shivers to remain unexpressed. How would he be harassed (or possibly entertained) today?

The first hint of the kekkaishi's coming was a vague, tingling shift of awareness rather like the recognition one predator has for another. The second was the scrape of sneakers against cement as the boy began scaling the roof. The third was an unexpected and abrupt halt to the wind and increase in the ambient air temperature.

Gen's eyes flew open only to be met by the crystalline shimmer of a kekkai surrounding him. He flipped to his feet with an instinctual jolt of adrenaline, his fingers already flexing and curling in preparation of their transformation to rend the thing open.

"You can calm down now. I just thought you might like to be more comfortable."

Gen looked down, following the droll voice to its source. Sumimura Yoshimori sat cross-legged with his chin propped in one hand, studying Gen closely. Gen searched his expression for any trace of mockery or scorn, but the other boy was so solemn as to be inscrutable.

"Come to my house on Sunday," Yoshimori stated without any preamble.

What? That seemed like such a good sentiment that Gen expressed it verbally: "What?"

Yoshimori rolled his eyes and pointed one finger at the standing boy. "I want you to come to my house on Sunday," he repeated.

"Why?" One day Gen would pass beyond one word questions, but it would not be this day.

"Heh heh." Yoshimori smiled, something like evil joy sparking in his eyes and glittering across his teeth. "Atora will like it."

Gen shuddered.

* * *

Fully convinced that he was giving into the whims of a mad man—and mad woman for that matter if Atora was involved—Gen trudged down the street, the Sumimura residence in sight and looming ever larger. To his surprise Yukimura Tokine emerged from the gate next door and stepped briskly toward the gate to Yoshimori's home. She paused as she saw him.

"Gen-kun! What are you doing here?"

Gen pondered whether snarling or whimpering would be the better response. Both seemed like an appropriate option. However, Tokine's eyes shone clear and without guile as she stepped closer to him and ducked her head in an attempt to better see his downcast eyes.

"Are you alright?"

The gate burst open from the inside, sending Tokine skittering backwards in a defensive crouch. Gen slumped further towards the pavement.

"Come in! Come right on in, both of you!" Yoshimori crowed. He rubbed his hands together gleefully as he stood framed by the solid bulk of the walls, a visible coil of tension and energy just waiting to burst forth and destroy everything within the vicinity.

Yep, that was definitely unholy glee, Gen reflected silently as he followed Tokine's swishing ponytail inside. He tried to convince himself that the creak and shudder of the gates closing behind them was not a portent of doom. Yoshimori's enthusiasm made it very hard.

Tokine led the way into the house and paused to greet Toshimori, who looked all too excited to see the group of them. Behind Gen Yoshimori suddenly appeared to mentally short-circuit.

"Tokine's in my house! Tokine's going to be in my kitchen!" He gasped, "Tokine might see my bedroom! Or the bathroom!"

A strong breeze ruffled through the spikes of Gen's hair as Yoshimori zoomed past in an explosive flurry of action. He reappeared in seconds, dusty, disheveled, and reeking of cleaning solvents. Tokine turned around, and her nose wrinkled slightly but noticeably at the smell. Yoshimori visibly deflated.

"Is it okay for me to be here?" she asked.

Yoshimori recovered. "Of course! The old man's out who knows where but he said he wouldn't be back for hours, and Dad's meeting his editor, not that he'd care if you were here. And Toshimori won't tell, will you?"

"Nope!"

Both brothers beamed.

"See? It's good. It's great, even. Toshimori, get the cutters!"

Gen jerked ramrod straight in response to that particular declaration. What the hell was he talking about? Tokine greeted the announcement with a small portion of the reservation that Gen felt, a small wrinkle marring the smooth skin of her forehead. Perhaps it would have been larger if it had been her arm that Yoshimori latched onto and she whom he forcibly propelled into the kitchen.

"Alright! First rule of business: aprons for everyone!" Yoshimori stated briskly, and Gen found himself smacked in the face with a bundle of the gaudiest cloth he had ever seen in his life.

Aprons? In an orange, hot pink, and lime green floral? Gen glanced toward Tokine.

The older girl's eyebrows arched primly. She glared at the brothers, and both seemed temporarily cowed, but unfortunately it only lasted a few seconds. "What are you doing, Yoshimori?" Tokine demanded finally, one fist clutching the more sedate lavender apron forced on her, the other resting at a challenging angle on her hip.

Yoshimori drew himself up to his full, as-yet-insubstantial height. "This will be an exercise in teamwork!"

"And fun!" Toshimori added with a whoop, waving one small fist in the air.

The middle brother was a bad influence on the youngest, Gen decided. It would be much better if Toshimori took after Masamori's composure. Masamori still had flair, and to spare, but at least he managed to do it without flailing around everywhere.

Tokine caved beneath the force of Toshimori's pleading eyes, and thus Gen lost the one ally he had. He struggled into the apron without assistance but almost considered drawing the line at the bandanna Yoshimori then offered. It was so hideous a plaid that he would have argued unto his death that it was a deliberate slight had not Yoshimori and Toshimori been garbed in a similarly appalling fashion. Only Tokine had been spared the mismatch of patterns and prints.

Tokine hid a smirk behind her hand as she glanced over the three boys but maintained her usual calm and focus as she once again questioned, "Yoshimori, really, what are we going to do in your kitchen that could possibly be considered teamwork?"

He nodded to her in acknowledgment of her question but turned his gaze fully on Gen. "You don't like sweet things, and that's really quite terrible." Tokine glared and cleared her throat. "Well it is. But fortunately you don't have to like sweet things to make them!"

Gen had thought his stomach could not sink any farther. He was wrong.

"We—" Yoshimori struck a heroic pose. "—are going to bake!"

Gen pivoted smartly on his heel, fully prepared to storm out of the kitchen—

"Toshimori, stop him!"

—and promptly found a leech of a child clinging to his legs with a shamelessness that was inappropriate to his age.

"Haha! You're not leaving so quickly!"

An inarticulate snarl slipped from Gen's throat at Yoshimori's bark of triumph.

Yoshimori's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't consider hurting my precious little brother, I'm sure."

Gen met him glare for glare. It would not be the little brother he would be hurting. Tokine's loud inhalation and the sudden release and scramble of Toshimori were the only warning they had.

"Ketsu!"

"Naarrgh!"

The two older boys collapsed in a bruised, tangled heap with Tokine standing over them, arms folded across her apron front and one foot tapping a rapid rhythm on the floor. "Baking, Yoshimori? This is why you invited me over? I thought it was something important."

Yoshimori's jaw dropped, and he leapt to his feet to face off with the taller girl. Even Gen found the rapid-fire manifesto that spewed forth on the nature of manliness, the culinary arts, and creativity in general to be impressive. Yoshimori wound down with the demand, "Do you have a problem with a guy baking? What's wrong with doing something you enjoy, huh?"

Tears started sparkling in his eyes despite his bravado, and Tokine appeared more than a little overwhelmed. She held out her hands placatingly at having struck such an apparently raw nerve. "That's not it. Why are Gen-kun and I here if it's not kekkaishi business?"

After deciding that drawing attention to himself would be a bad idea, Gen had remained very, very still on the floor, hoping that an opportunity to break and run would present itself. He was fast, very, very fast, but they were all crazy. And, damn her, she'd just shifted attention back onto him.

"Because it is kekkaishi business. Sort of," Yoshimori added, rubbing the back of his head before crisply retying his bandanna. "Atora said we need to work as a time. So I thought we could do this. It's not as serious as training, but we'd be together. Besides, Atora sent a message saying she wants more cake. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who will be refused."

He bent, offering Gen a hand up. After a moment's hesitation Gen took it. Yoshimori did not immediately release him. Gen felt surprisingly uncertain beneath that strange level stare. "Shishio, you say all you can do is destroy. That's a lie. I'm going to prove it to you.

"Don't look so scared. You won't be making a marvelous candy castle today. None of you are ready for it yet. You have to start out small and practice and build yourself up. We're making gingerbread cutouts!"

Toshimori whirled in front of him with a flourish, a plethora of plastic and steel shapes ringing each finger, which he flashed like a handful of shuriken.

Tokine went absolutely still beside Gen. He looked to the side very carefully, fully expecting the looming intensity that preceded a bludgeoning with a kekkai. Instead he found her eyes wide and sparkling and her mouth rounded, looking the girliest he had ever seen her. Even in the midst of battle she was still feminine, in much the same way that a she-wolf or lioness was feminine, but this was downright _girly_.

"Really?" she breathed.

"Yep." Yoshimori nodded and then proceeded to dance around the kitchen, seemingly pulling out ingredients and bowls and other tools at random.

"Shishio, here's your bowl. Alright, everyone, let's get to work!"

Yoshimori turned into an army commander, belting out orders and stepping in only to correct as needed.

"First the shortening, sugar, and molasses. Mix them really well!"

Gen labored over the spoon with surprise. This was more labor intensive than he had anticipated, and surely it would create an absolutely enormous mass of cookies.

"Now, Toshimori, bring the water over here. Gen, stir it in too." As his younger brother struggled over to Gen with a massive jug, Yoshimori turned his attention elsewhere. "Tokine, stop smelling the spices! Come here and I'll show you how to dip the flour. Like this." He demonstrated. "Now you try. Add that to what Gen is mixing."

Gen gaped at him. This was _work_ , and the continued addition of new ingredients did not make the process any easier.

"What's the matter?" Yoshimori's eyes gleamed. "Still think baking isn't for men? You're strong. You can do this. But," he added, "no powers of any kind from anyone! You will not cheat in my kitchen!

"Okay, Toshimori, throw the spices in there. Stir, stir, stir!"

Once the mass of dough was finally of a blend and consistency that Yoshimori approved of, he directed Gen to lift it (Yoshimori really was crazy) and put it in the refrigerator to chill.

"Tokine, turn the oven on so it can heat up, would you? Now we'll start the icing."

Tokine did so with aplomb, skipping around the Sumimura kitchen and humming happily. Under Yoshimori's tutelage, the trio threw together confectioners' sugar, salt, vanilla extract, and water in multiple small bowls before blending in food coloring and covering it all with towels.

"Cookie time, cookie time, cookie time," Toshimori began chanting.

While Gen maneuvered the bulky bowl of dough back out of the refrigerator, Yoshimori ripped multiple strips of wax paper, laying them down across half of the large kitchen table. To Gen's absolute mystification he then proceeded to shower them with additional flour. Gen took his place at the table and dipped his hands into their own dusting of flour as instructed. He decided he did not like the feeling of baking. However, Tokine was happily molding and pounding away aimlessly at a large hunk of dough, appearing to enjoy the tactile sensation simply for its own sake just as much as Toshimori beside her on his footstool.

"Everyone will get a rolling pin in just a second. Now for a secret." Yoshimori's face grew red as he pulled a long brownish strip of flimsy cloth from the pocket of his apron. Gen squinted without immediate recognition, but Tokine yelped.

"Pantyhose?"

"Yeah, you put it over the rolling pin, and it keeps the dough from sticking to it." Yoshimori demonstrated.

Tokine snatched the pin from his hand and passed it off to Gen. Gen stared at it. Once upon a time that had been on a woman's leg, and now it was stretched over a wooden rolling pin in his flour-covered hands. And Yoshimori wanted him to make little cookie humans with it.

Life was often cruel.

"Now the cutting begins."

The cutting was going to be even messier, Gen was sure. Joy. He drew a deep breath and attempted to center himself. No matter what, he was not allowed to damage Yoshimori, not allowed to damage Yoshimori, not allowed to damage…

Yoshimori freehanded his creations, sending a blade dancing through his own flattened mound of dough, and following it with a practiced flick of the wrist that sent a spatula lifting and flipping the cookies gracefully into a greased baking pan. He also hummed throughout the process. Loudly.

Everyone else sorted through the pile of cookie cutters that Toshimori had dumped onto the table, grabbing a favored few. Although Gen had long ago reached the point of being completely out of his league, he had to admit Yoshimori was proving to be a surprisingly patient instructor. Yoshimori did not mock or criticize him for the creations that fell apart. He instead guided, instructed, chided, and celebrated successes with a most embarrassing level of enthusiasm.

Gen stared at the haphazard jumble of twisted figures arrayed across his baking pan. He glanced at Toshimori's next. They were nearly as bad. Yoshimori's consisted of an elaborate display of... something, Gen knew not what. Then he looked over to Tokine. A set of perfectly spaced cookies with solid, clear margins marched across the metal. Not a single blemish marred the dough.

Gen gawked. Yoshimori gawked beside him. Tokine smiled wolfishly, before sweeping her hand in a graceful arc to indicate a second baking pan, fully covered in dough. The imprints of cookie cuts dotted its surface, and she peeled the unnecessary dough away with a flourish, leaving a perfect series of gingerbread trees behind.

Tokine tapped her forehead. "A little forethought goes a long way."

"She's wonderful," Yoshimori gasped, all but swooning at Gen's side.

Gen was forced to agree about the effectiveness of her method.

After the cookies had been put in the oven for cooking, no one was ever quite sure how the beginning cleanup process degenerated into a food fight free-for-all. Possibly the imp that lurked in Tokine started it when she smeared green icing across Yoshimori's cheek. Alternately it could have been when Toshimori threw a handful of flour in the air and declared it to be snowing, said flour happening to end up mostly across Tokine's face. Before Gen knew what had happened he was rolling across the flour in a collective human ball filled with shrieks, curses, laughter, and the waving of rolling pins. One surely had to participate merely to survive, and he did so.

Only the cheerful beeping of the timer of the oven brought the battle to a halt, leaving the quartet in a gasping mass of twisted, disheveled, flour-covered humanity.

And then Yoshimori sprang back to life and the icing tutelage began and, oh, was that ever a disaster.

* * *

"Not bad for your first time."

"It's atrocious. The whole process."

"Oh, really? Don't worry; you'll get better. Someday."

Gen and Yoshimori faced off over their respective piles of newly iced cookies. Yoshimori had advised that it might be easier to decorate things you already knew, and ironically both had decorated cookies in the guise of the Karasumori team: Gen's simple gingerbread figures in the standard outspread pose and Yoshimori's an elaborate setup complete with full battle gear costuming, fighting poses, and spirit dogs.

"You've taken instruction and worked as a team. You've built, restored, created. You've controlled yourself the whole time." Yoshimori waved one hand vaguely in the air and glanced sidelong at Gen. "I'm proud of you," he dropped far too casually.

Gen snorted, eyebrows rising. Yoshimori's mouth ticked up, and he nodded. In sync Gen lifted his Yoshimori cookie and Yoshimori lifted his Gen cookie. They smiled sharp sharks' smiles across the table and then proceeded to bite the cookies' heads off.

Tokine sighed and glanced down at an uncomprehending Toshimori. "Boys."


End file.
